Rubbish at this Godfather Thing
by kalyzio
Summary: After Harry sneaks out and returns home drunk, Sirius realizes he can't simply be a friend; he must be a father. Warning: contains spanking.


All in all, Sirius Black decided that it was not one of his better mornings. One moment he had been repressing curses and crawling around in the dust with a rag in hand in a futile attempt to clean the 'Most Noble Hose of Black', and the next he was staring, somewhat baffled, at an utterly enraged Molly Weasley.

In truth, he would have preferred the dust bunnies.

Molly was glaring at him, clearly expecting some sort of answer.

Sirius sighed.

Evidently Molly did not deem that a sufficient response. "Do you REALIZE how CARELESS those boys were being? Somebody could have been INJURED. OR WORSE!"

It was astounding how loudly a kindly looking woman could yell with her motherly instincts flared to life.

"All right," Sirius said, trying unsuccessfully to surreptitiously cover his ears. "Let me see if I have this straight. Last night, the twins, Ron, and Harry snuck out of their beds and into the Muggle city of London."

He could barely keep the 'so what?' tone out of his voice, and Molly, perceptive as ever, picked up on that as fast as a bloodhound. She gaped at him. "Not ONLY that, but they proceeded to get thoroughly, DISGUSTINGLY, DRUNK in ADDITION to placing themselves at ABSOLUTELY NEEDLESS RISK!"

Sirius thought his eardrums might burst.

"Molly, I understand you are upset – "

However his words only seemed to infuriate her more.

"SO YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY, DON'T YOU, SIRIUS BLACK?" she nearly shrieked. "Reminds you of your old mischief days, does it? Well here's something! If not for Lupin's sharp senses and quick action, those boys might still be in LONDON - _DRUNK_. No SENSE at all!"

Ah. So that explained why Remus had retuned so late last night, his face lined and creased with worry.

"Well, why are you telling me this? It is a little too late to prevent the action, and no doubt the hangover will teach them not to drink Muggle alcohol carelessly again."

For several beats, Molly said nothing. Then: "For whatever else you are, Sirius," she said finally, in a hushed voice that made it seem like she was too angry to yell, "You are Harry's godfather."

He raised a shoulder. "Like I said, what's done is done. Look I'll go talk to Harry, but I think he's already learned that his actions were careless!"

"You'll TALK to him? He snuck OUT of this place, exposing himself to NEEDLESS danger, and all for the purpose of GETTING DRUNK. _AND HE IS UNDERAGE._"

This time, however, Sirius found his own irritation rising in response to her latest barrage. "Well what would you _like_ me to do, Molly?" he said curtly, "Throw him over my knee and spank him?"

And then to his utter surprise, she nodded.

Sirius' jaw dropped open and stayed open. He had thought that ever since Azkaban very little could surprise him; hell, he had barely blinked when Harry and Hermione had materialized outside those bars on that hippogriff and declared that they were setting him free. In many ways, he had adopted a quite 'go with the flow' sort of lifestyle. Strange things happened; he dealt with them when they arose.

However this was an exception.

His voice went oddly flat and formal. "You cannot mean that."

"Oh?" Molly retorted. "I would have done it myself if not for the fact that you – " and Sirius was sure she sniffed a bit on that word - "are somehow his guardian."

"Yes, but _spank_ him? He's fifteen! Even you wouldn't."

"Fred and George are seventeen."

He took a moment to digest the implications of her words. Somehow he simply could not picture it; he had always known Molly Weasley was capable of instigating terror in her sons, for her kindly demeanor hid the dragon of a woman, but never had he imagined THAT was how she disciplined her sons.

"Then – you – did you – "

Words were _not _coming easily.

"NO!" the word he'd been searching for finally burst from him, his tone horrified. "I won't. It was just a stupid thing, done by a teenage boy who is not old enough to know better."

"And how will he _ever_ know better?"

"He'll learn from this experience!"

"Oh? If you stand idly by and do nothing, what lesson will you be imparting?"

Sirius stood so fast that he overturned his chair. He was looming over Molly Weasley now, his gaunt features hard, his dark eyes flinty. "I won't." His breathing was coming faster now. Harry was the son of his best friend! He could never, ever imagine hurting him, HUMILIATING him, in such a fashion.

She absorbed his anger with surprisingly calm. "Sit down, Sirius."

He glared at her for several long moments and then acquiesced.

"You have been Harry's godfather for a little over a year," she said, her words firm but containing none of the bite they had earlier. "I have been a mother for more than two decades. Let me tell you something about teenage boys. This is the age when they need someone with strength to tell them where the limits are. They are naturally inclined to push and push at those limits, and if they are not reeled back…"

"Testing of boundaries," Sirius interrupted stiffly, "is fundamental to growing up."

"And dying?"

Sirius flinched. "Nothing _happened_, Molly. It was a silly adventure. Let them enjoy their youth while they can."

She was readying to yell at him again; he could sense it.

"Unacceptable, Sirius. You'll hurt Harry more by doing this."

"Is that your expert opinion?" he snapped back. He tired of her motherly advice, and he tired of her constantly making a fuss about the most trivial of things. Harry was not a young toddler who needed to be fixed to a leash!

Her face whitened. "I love Harry like a son, and I have his best interests at heart."

_So do I, Molly! He's MY godson!_ However Sirius settled for saying simply, "If you do anything to him, I – " he paused, suddenly uncertain of what precisely he would do. "You will answer to me for it."

Now she looked at him with pure venom in her eyes, mixed with a fair bit of disappointment and disgust, and Sirius suddenly found himself understanding how even a fully trained and accomplished wizard like Bill could cower at that gaze.

His words had been daft, and he was embarrassed to hear them echo in his mind.

"There is no need to threaten me, Sirius Black," she said, her voice deadly soft. "I would never lay a hand on Harry without the permission of his guardian. How I only wish it were anyone but you!"

And with those words, she stood up stiffly and left the room before Sirius could respond.

***

Sirius was at the breakfast table, rifling through _The Prophet_ when he suddenly became aware of Harry's presence at the kitchen entrance. He waited a few beats, but his godson continued to hover at the door. "In or out, Harry," he finally said, pleasantly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry bite his lip and take a few steps forward. "Er, hi."

Placing down the paper, Sirius looked up and smiled fondly as he took in his godson's distinctly disheveled appearance. He could see that Harry had made some attempt at taming his wild hair, but it still looked mussed, and his eyelids were heavy.

"Good morning - well, good afternoon. Eggs in the pan, toast in the toaster."

He could have sworn Harry turned a few shades greener. "No thank you," he muttered.

"Harry, come here."

His godson looked at him through his dark eyelashes, his teeth gnawing nervously on his lower lip. "Um, why?" he said, "Er, I mean, I'm feeling just fine over here, thanks."

Despite himself, Sirius suppressed a smile. Harry often unknowingly echoed many of James' own tendencies, but apparently he'd failed to inherit James' cockiness. Even when nervous, James had always exhibited an air of certainty about him.

"I'm sure your head is killing you," he said patiently, "I can help with that."

"Oh." Harry's tense posture relaxed a fraction, and he came forward into the kitchen. Sirius gently tapped his wand to Harry's temple, and murmured a spell. He had not been a heavy drinker himself by any means, but there had been occasions when his friends and he had overindulged on butterbeers and firewhiskey, and found such a magical remedy indispensible.

Harry gave a sigh of relief, rubbing his forehead with a palm. "Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome." Sirius summoned a glass of gleaming water with a casual flick of his wand. "Drink up. It'll help."

Obediently, Harry took the glass and began taking slow sips. He didn't say a further word, and Sirius considered picking up _The Prophet_ again, if only to have something to do other than stare at his godson. The silence stretched on, awkwardly.

With a sigh, Sirius realized he _had_ to address the metaphorical elephant in the room. "About last night," he began, trying for a casual tone.

Harry straightened immediately, all the tension back in his body. His fingers whitened against the glass.

_Merlin's beard_, Sirius thought dryly, Harry looked like he was awaiting an executioner's decision. "I'm not angry," he said quickly.

"Y - you're not?"

"No, and I'm not disappointed either."

Harry stared at him, bewildered.

Sirius shrugged slightly, starting to feel uncomfortable with the conversation. Harry was not acting with elation as he imagined he would have, were their roles reversed. "Look, we all experiment in our youth, okay? It's not a big deal, just a part of growing up. Just remember your hangover the next time you're tempted to overindulge, and don't you _ever_ drink and fly."

"So…so we're good? Just like that?"

Sirius smiled reassuringly. "Yes, Harry. Just like that."

"But I thought - " Harry stumbled a moment, wavered, and then nodded. "Okay then."

"Right." Another awkward silence stretched, and this time, Sirius did pick up _The Prophet_, but his movements felt wrong, somehow. The conversation felt unfinished; Harry was certainly looking at him like he expected something more, but Sirius felt out of his element. He had addressed the issue, as he had said he would. He had let Harry know he wasn't angry. What else? What else was he supposed to do or say?

"Why don't you go run a bath," he suggested, "And then later if you're hungry, we'll go eat."

"'kay," Harry said quietly, and left the kitchen without further comment.

A frown caressed Sirius' features. Something was definitely unresolved here. Harry was still acting like he was walking on eggshells around him, and Sirius felt a wave of incompetence crash over him as he realized he had no idea how to make things _right_ between them again.

Perhaps time was the answer. Time healed all, didn't it?

He sincerely hoped that were true.

***

Later that night, Sirius decided he had had enough. Harry had largely kept to his room the entire day; the few times he had come downstairs had been oddly formal, with Harry all polite smiles and words. Sirius missed his godson. He missed Harry's smile, his jokes, the good natured ribbing between them.

Time clearly wasn't the answer. But _Quidditch_ always fixed everything.

Picking up his broom, Sirius made his way upstairs. Harry's door was closed, and he raised a hand to knock when he suddenly overheard Ron's voice from inside.

"Ugh, my arse is _killing_ me," the boy complained, "And my _knees_. And my _fingers_. Do you know how many weeds I pulled today? Only about every weed in England! I think Mum kept magicking up more or something!"

"I said I was sorry, Ron," Harry snapped, his temper showing.

"Oh come off it, mate. You know I don't blame you. You know you're so lucky to have Sirius as your guardian."

Sirius felt a swell of pride in his chest, which was quickly dashed by Harry's response:

"I 'spose," his godson said, quietly and despondently.

He frowned.

"C'mon," Ron sounded alarmed, "Why do you look so down? Sirius wasn't angry with you!"

"Well he wasn't _anything_ about it, really!" Harry's voice was suddenly passionate and anguished, "He wasn't angry, he wasn't disappointed, he doesn't bloody care about me _at all_!"

The words cut through Sirius like a knife; he stood there, stunned. Was _that_ what Harry thought? Nothing, absolutely nothing could be further from the truth! Emotions surged through him; the urge to barge through the door and comfort his godson and the urge to repeatedly smack his own head against the wall clashed for dominance, and so he simply stood there, feeling helpless and inadequate.

He didn't know how long he stood there, but he was suddenly aware of a comforting presence to his left, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Not here, Sirius. Come on."

He felt as if he were moving on automatic, as he turned his head and blinked blearily at the sight of his oldest living friend. "Moony? I - Harry, he - I - "

"Not _here_." Remus was insistent, propelling him forward, away from Harry's door and toward his own chambers.

Dazed, Sirius allowed himself to be guided. The soft sound of the door clicking shut pulled him a bit out of his thoughts and back into reality, but he found he still couldn't quite form the sentences he wanted, to express the deep guilt he suddenly felt coursing through him.

_Merlin's beard, Molly was right. I made matters worse by doing nothing._

"You heard Harry," he said, the words falling numbly from his lips.

Remus looked at him, his eyes compassionate. "I did."

Shame burned through him, hot and fierce. "I don't understand. Anyone else would be right delighted to not be punished. What else have I done wrong, so that Harry thinks I don't care? I just don't - I have no idea - "

"Sirius. Sit." Remus' voice was gentle, but firm.

"No. _No._ I should go to him."

"Not when you're antagonized like this, you shouldn't."

Ignoring him, Sirius strode forward, intending to push past his friend. He had to make things right, _right now._ But Remus stood fast, blocking his way, and Sirius growled, deep and low in his throat. "Move aside, Remus."

"You will sit down and hear me out, Sirius, or so help me, I'll tie you to the chair."

"Bugger off!" Sirius lunged forward.

He never even saw Remus draw his wand, but the next second, he heard a _bang_, and he was suddenly flying backwards. His back slammed against the rough wood of a chair, vines appearing out of nowhere to bind his feet and arms. Sirius snarled, struggling furiously, but the bonds held tight.

"_Fuck you_," he swore angrily.

"Would you look at yourself!" Remus snapped, sounding exasperated. "What would Harry think?"

At those words, Sirius suddenly stilled.

Remus' voice gentled. "You're understandably upset, Padfoot. I don't doubt how much you love Harry. And believe it or not, he knows you love him too. But he is fifteen-years-old, and not thinking clearly right now. He needs _you_ to be the one thinking clearly."

He could feel his anger slipping away, replaced with painful emptiness. "But then why - "

"Do you remember that time when James and you thought it would be an excellent idea to borrow Mr. Potter's broomstick for a midnight fly?"

Confused as to the relevance, Sirius nodded slowly. "It was during my first summer at the Potters'."

"And Mr. Potter had just bought a Nimbus 1600," Remus said, "The fastest broomstick in the world." He smiled, slightly. "At the time, at least."

"Where are you going with this?"

Remus ignored his foul mood. "What happened that night?"

"We took the broomstick, stopped by in Diagon Alley, and had a few firewhiskies," Sirius said, "James then decided to fly to Lily's to show off the broom." Despite the situation, he found himself smiling slightly as memories of his misspent youth returned to him. Even now, he could still clearly see his best friend's smile, could still remember the thrill of the chilly night, the rush of _adventure_.

"And?"

"James lost control of the broom - "

Remus raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, perhaps I may have lost control of the broom. That remains debatable. Regardless, we both fell off, and the broom flew off to Merlin knows where. And James and I called the Knight Bus and hobbled home, him with a broken wrist, me with a sprained ankle, and more cuts and bruises than I could count. Come on, Moony, you know the details."

"What then?" Remus could be annoyingly persistent when he wanted to be.

"Mr. Potter healed us up, then tanned our hides and sent us to bed. And we spent the rest of the summer doing odd jobs to pay him back for his broom."

"Sirius, what if Mr. Potter _hadn't_ tanned your hide?"

"My arse would have been thankful," Sirius said ruefully, "I bloody well hurt for days."

"Really." Remus smiled a thin smile. "Here's a different scenario. You and James come home. Mr. Potter heals your wounds and sends you to bed, while he wallops his son. It hurts, but then it's over, and Mr. Potter hugs him and reassures him that everything will be all right. And meanwhile, you still have no idea where you stand with him, only that you destroyed his new broom and risked your life foolishly - but he doesn't address either issue."

"I - " words stuck in Sirius' throat, as the meaning of the story sank in.

He remembered being terrified that entire bus ride back - him, Sirius Black, terrified! He had been so certain Mr. Potter would evict him, that the man he had come to respect so much would never, ever forgive him. The whipping had almost been a relief, a reassurance that Mr. Potter wasn't about to give up on him yet.

He understood. Now, he understood.

But Remus wasn't done. "If Mr. Potter had done that, you would have brooded on it for days."

_Thanks for rubbing my nose in it__._

"Point blatantly made, Moony," Sirius said, a trace more snappish than he intended. He regretted his tone instantly, and made his apology the best way he knew how. "Now that we've established who is the wiser, perhaps you wouldn't mind obliging me…?" he gestured with a nod of his head toward his hands, still bound tightly to the armrests of the chair.

Remus' lips twitched. "Very well." He waved his wand again, and the vines fell away harmlessly.

"Thank you. For…today."

They smiled at each other, quick, brotherly smiles. Then Remus clapped him on the shoulder. "Go and speak to Harry."

"I'm really rubbish at this godfather thing, aren't I?"

He had meant it to be a flippant remark, but it had instead sounded quite vulnerable.

"Nonsense," Remus said firmly, "You're learning, he's learning. You'll find your way."

Sirius nodded grimly, feeling a heavy weight begin to sink in his heart. "And if I do spank him…Merlin's beard, I haven't the slightest idea how!"

But Remus only laughed. "Surely, Padfoot, you have sufficient experience…from the other end, at least! You'll be fine."

And even as he threw a pillow at Remus' head, Sirius wished he shared his friend's confidence.

***

As luck would have it, Sirius happened across Molly on his return trip to Harry's room. He drew a breath, ready for an argument, but she took one look at him - swift and appraising - and amazingly, her expression softened. "So you've up and decided to finally take Harry in hand," she said.

_How did you…?_

He raised his shoulders slightly, the only response he could manage. "Ron's still in Harry's room."

Tacit understanding passed between the two, and she nodded. "That most certainly won't remain a problem," she said decisively.

He could only nod jerkily, still mentally bracing himself.

Molly swept past him on the stairs, and then a moment later, he heard her shout, "RONALD WEASLEY, GET YOUR BUM DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT THIS INSTANT."

The door to Harry's room flew open, and Sirius watched in amazement as the redhead nearly fell down the stairs in his haste. He reached out a steadying hand instinctively, "Whoa, easy there, Ron!"

"Thanks, Sirius!" the teen shouted back over his shoulder as he scrambled.

Sirius took in a deep breath. This was it. This was the moment.

He knocked on Harry's still open door. "May I come in?"

Harry was sitting at the desk, a now abandoned game of wizarding chess before him. "Yeah, sure."

Sirius closed the door behind him. "Looks like you're getting pretty good at chess, Harry," he commented quietly.

Harry barely smiled at the compliment. "Thanks."

The formality was driving him bonkers. Sirius decided he had dawdled enough. "Sit on the bed, Harry, please."

Looking wary now, Harry rose from the chair and moved to the bed, his legs kicking slightly at the bedspread as he fidgeted. Then as if suddenly aware of what he was doing, he stopped and looked up, his shoulders squaring back.

In that instant, Sirius was painfully reminded of James.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, came forward, and sat next to his godson. He couldn't look Harry in the eyes, not yet, and so spoke instead to the wall. "I…I care for you very much, Harry. When James and Lily asked me to be your godfather, I was honored. Deeply honored. In my mind, I saw the years ahead. I had everything planned. I'd teach you to fly, I'd teach you to ride a motorbike, hell, I'd buy you your first motorbike! I'd buy you treats and teach you pranks, show you how to sneak out of the Castle…"

The lump in his throat was growing now. Back then, life had seemed so easy. Back then, they had been on top of the world.

"I was going to teach you to duel with the best of them; I was going to take you to the World Cup and make you a proper England fan. And when you were finally born, Harry, and Lily put you in my arms for the first time, I - I never felt luckier. You looked up at me with such a trusting expression in your eyes, and you held onto my pinkie finger with all your strength, and I knew then that I - that I - that I loved you."

There. He had finally, somehow, managed to say it.

He looked at Harry then, and was stunned to see a glimmer of moisture in his godson's eyes.

Eyes that reminded him so much of Lily…

He kept speaking, because if he stopped now, he'd never say what needed to be said. "Back then, I thought being your godfather was all about the fun and games. But now, I see that it's about more than that. Look at me," he ordered, gently.

Harry's eyes were suspiciously bright.

"You expected I would discipline you this morning," Sirius said, "And I didn't. That was my mistake. So we'll talk about it now."

Clichéd phrases ran through his mind, Mr. Potter's deep, stern voice echoing back, transcending the years.

"You boys acted very recklessly last night," he said, "Sneaking out. Underage drinking."

A trace more argumentative, Harry bit out, "But you _said_ you weren't mad or disappointed."

"And I wasn't. But that doesn't mean you didn't act wrongly. In this case, while I initially perceived your actions as boyish fun, as your godfather, I cannot condone such risks."

_And I'm going to make damn sure you know it_. He could hear Mr. Potter's voice in his head again.

"But nothing happened."

"Then you were very fortunate. These are dangerous times we live in. What if Death Eaters had come across you, Ron, and the twins? Even _without_ the presence of alcohol, would you have been able to ward them off? You were alone and vulnerable in London. You risked your life, and your friends' lives."

The stubborn set of Harry's jaw slackened, and he looked down, flushing red.

Lecture over, Sirius decided. Further words wouldn't contribute anything more.

"Did you know, Harry, that your grandfather used to discipline me?"

His godson's head jerked up.

Sirius suppressed a smile. "He was a traditional man." _Who was quite handy with a cane or a tawse._ "And during the time I lived under his roof, I truly did live under his rules. And there was one distinction your grandfather was always very clear on. He disciplined us, not punished us."

Harry's brow furrowed.

"I am going to spank you," Sirius said, not without difficulty, "but I want you to know, I will never spank you out of anger or because I want to inflict pain on you. I will do it only to impart a lesson, to make you into a better man. That is discipline."

These were Mr. Potter's words, and Sirius was thankful they were in his head.

"But I'm _fifteen_," Harry protested weakly.

"I was sixteen."

Harry's shoulders slumped, and Sirius knew instinctively that Harry wasn't going to fight him on this. He felt he deserved punishment. It was in his godson's nature; he accepted responsibility more readily than Sirius would have liked.

"I understand," Harry said quietly. He squared his shoulders again. "I'm ready."

"Right then." Sirius' heart was beating very fast, so fast he thought it a wonder he was still upright, but he forced his tone to remain calm. He again fell back on Mr. Potter's lines, "I want you to stand up, and pull down your trousers."

Harry flushed red to the tips of his ears, but he obeyed. His hands didn't even tremble as he undid the zipper of his jeans and pushed them down to his knees. Sirius felt a rush of pride. Clearly, Harry had James' courage.

_No. I cannot think of James right now._

To minimize Harry's embarrassment, Sirius moved quickly, guiding his godson over his lap. He secured him in place by placing his left hand firmly on Harry's back.

There was definitely no turning back now.

He steeled his resolve, and raised his right hand high, cupping the palm slightly, and then brought his hand crashing down. There was a sound like a clap - or rather, like a thunderclap to Sirius' ears - and Harry made a soft sound of distress.

_Was that too hard? Not hard enough? _

He repeated the motion, this time on the other butt cheek. Harry didn't respond verbally, but Sirius saw the boy's hands clench tighter on the bedsheets.

He fell into a rhythm, left, right, left, right, and for what felt like a small eternity, his ears heard only the sound of his heavy hand walloping down on his godson's backside. Harry took the spanking stoically - other than that initial sound, he made no others, didn't protest or try to move. Sirius counted over seventy spanks in his head, but there was still no response.

_I'm doing this wrong_, Sirius thought desperately, _somehow, I'm doing this wrong_.

And then Harry started to cry - soft, broken sobs.

He had known this moment would come, had mentally readied himself for it. Yet nothing could have prepared him.

He nearly broke.

_I'm doing this. I'm making him cry_. _My best friend's son. My godson._

Guilt and shame tore through him, even as his traitorous hand continued to rise and fall, peppering out hard slaps. He could feel a rosy warmth through Harry's boxers, knew from experience that it had to be burning like hell. Harry's sobs were growing louder, his shoulders shaking, his feet twitching as he tried desperately to both alleviate the sting and hold himself still.

"Ow, ow!" Harry finally cried out after a particularly hard flurry of swats to his sensitive sit-spot, "_Sirius_..."

Anguish ripped through him. Harry was pleading for _him_ to stop.

"I'm sorry," Harry sobbed, "Please! I'm sorry!"

Damn that old cliché, _it hurts me more than it hurts you_. It was true.

He struggled to keep his voice even. "No more sneaking out," he said sternly, "No more underage drinking." He punctuated each word with a hard slap, evoking more cries, "Because the next time you do, I swear I'll take you over my knee every night for a week. Are we clear?"

"Y - yesss," Harry gasped.

No more. He couldn't possibly continue.

Deeply shaken, Sirius brought his hand to the small of Harry's back, rubbing circles as he tried to comfort his godson. Harry continued to sob brokenly over his knee, clutching to the sheets like a young child, until at least, Sirius couldn't stand it anymore.

"Harry, it's over, it's over. You took it well," he said, trying not to let his voice show the fear he suddenly felt. Had he overdone it? He gently pulled the boy upright, almost afraid to look into Harry's eyes, afraid of how he would feel if he looked and saw that his godson hated him.

But to his surprise, Harry flung his arms around Sirius' neck, and cried into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sirius! I'm so sorry!"

Relief, sharp and strong, crested through him, and Sirius hugged the boy closer to him. "Ssh, Snitchlet. You did very well. I'm proud of you. So very proud of you."

For several long moments they stayed like that, until Harry's sobs quieted and he pulled back, face flushed red. "Sorry. Sorry for crying like that," he mumbled, the teenager once more.

"Enough apologies," Sirius smiled, "And there is no shame in crying after a spanking."

"I got your shirt all wet."

"Hey, it'll dry. That's the beauty of water." Sirius reached out a hand, refusing to let Harry get too far away, and pulled him back against his chest. "Let's be very clear on one thing, Harry. Now that you've been spanked, the matter is done. No more clinging onto guilt. It's in the past, and we are moving forward."

Harry looked like that was a concept he was entirely unfamiliar with.

"Your grandfather's rule," Sirius said firmly, "And believe me, it's quite a mistake to break any of your grandfather's rules." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I think he'll manage to find some way to spank both of us."

"Well, I guess if he said so…" Harry trailed off as he snuggled deeper in Sirius' arms. Surprised at the action, Sirius nevertheless kept holding him, until he could feel his godson's body becoming heavy with sleep, and remembered clearly how exhausted he had always been after a hard spanking.

"Bed, Harry," he said softly.

Harry grumbled something.

Smiling to himself, Sirius leaned backwards until he was lying down on the bed, pulling Harry down with him. The boy made a murmur of protest, before stretching out on the sheets, a peaceful expression on his face.

Sirius tucked a blanket around his godson's shoulders, and stood there a moment, keeping silent watch over his godson. He was amazed at how much love and protectiveness he felt toward Harry at this moment.

He knew James and Lily had to be so very, very proud of their son, of the man he was fast becoming.

_I'll do my best by him._

There were times when he still felt he had failed his friends, but he wouldn't fail their son. Not again.

There was a sudden gust of wind through the open window; the chessboard tumbled off the desk, and smacked firmly against his arse. Startled, Sirius whirled around, eyes wide, jaw dropping open.

There was a sound like a chuckle, and a whisper. _See you that you don't._

Shaking his head, Sirius attributed the sounds to the rustle of the leaves.

**The End (for now?)**


End file.
